In which I make things.

Because I am a dumbass, I forgot to take pictures of this project while I was working on it. But sometimes, there's something even better than a picture of a finished sewing project on a hanger. What is it? A finished sewing project on a person!

Meet my friend Emily. Or should I say, Rev. Emily.

That's her at her ordination service late last month. And that lovely green number she's wearing around her neck? That's the stole I made for her as an ordination present. Green happens to be her favorite color and it's also the liturgical color for ordinary time, which is a hefty chunk of the liturgical year. (Non church geeks click here to find out what the hell I'm talking about.)

Anyhoodles, since I love Emily and she is 800 percent fabulous, I knew I wanted to make a stole for her big day. I didn't use a pattern, but if I make another one, I'll tweak it a bit so it wasn't so wide. The hardest part was getting the stole to lay flat along the back, so I borrowed a bunch of stoles from my pastor friend and tried to figure out what worked best. (BTW, I have a lot of minister friends. And seminary friends. And yet I have the world's foulest mouth. They love me anyway, because that's the kind of people they are.)

Here's a strangely cropped picture showing Em serving communion to her hubby. Note the pretty back of the stole. Say it with me: Ooooh. Pretty.


And here's an even more strangely cropped picture showing the full stole. It's a little rigid because I put interfacing on both sides, but I hope once it gets a few washings that it softens up a bit.

Even though I forgot to take pictures of the project (and here's where I should give a shoutout to Emily for letting me use her pictures of the blog, since I am a horrible friend and missed the whole service because I was drinking mai tai's on the beach in Hawaii), I had a ton of fun making it. It actually was a pretty simple project and I love the idea of making something for clergy who aren't into the standard stoles that are a) heavily brocaded and look like they were made with my grandmother's old draperies or b) look like they should be accompanied by Birks and a rousing chorus of Kumbaya. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.) I really hope I get to make some more!

It's hard to see here, but there's a smattering of stuff from different designers including Denyse Schmidt, Amy Butler, Anna Maria Horner and Art Gallery Fabrics in there. I used mostly fat quarters and lined the back with two different Amy Butler prints.

Woot! And, may I be one of many to say congrats Rev. Emily! I'm so proud of you!

Hawaii Pictures. Part I.

Hello, bloggy peeps. So check it: I went to Hawaii! For a week! It was awesome! Beyond words! So much so that all I can do is talk in exclamation points!!

Anyway, since I'm a rather huge freak, I managed to take something like 1,800 photographs during my week on Kauai. That, of course, means the editing process is going to be nothing short of a beast. But I started today and made a dent.

Here are some of my favorite shots from the first batch.

Enjoy!

_____

After a storm, I spied this double rainbow over Shipwreck's Beach. That's dad in the swing, taking his own pictures. Did I mention the light in Hawaii is effing stunning?



Fresh papayas, for sale in Hanapepe.


Sails of a catamaran, cruising in the Pacific along the Na Pali coastline.


Sunrise over Poipu Beach, by our hotel.


Random graffiti along a back road.


Flowers on the edge of a cliff looking over into a valley along the Na Pali coastline.


Plumeria flowers were EVERYWHERE. I wanted to take them all back home with me.


Awesome warehouse painted like a dive flag just off the dock in Port Allen.


More to come.

Logging off? Confessions of a...

Confession: I'm an Internet addict. I tweet. I Facebook. I check email within 30 seconds of its arrival. I use AIM. Gchat. The office internal IM system. Hell, I don't even think about going to the store without my phone and its ability to offer insta-Google. Why would I? You never know when there could be a produce crisis and I may suddenly really need to know the difference between kale and Italian kale.

I've been thinking a lot about how wired I am and how it fuels distraction in my life, in part because I just finished reading A.J. Jacobs' latest book, "The Guinea Pig Diaries." In one chapter he spends a month doing nothing but "unitasking" because he says we've multitasked ourselves away from our ability to focus.

In the 18th century, there were things like "attention athletes" who spent hours and days focusing on ONE THING and one thing only.

"Oh, to be born in the golden age of attention," he writes. "When Lincoln and Douglas could have three-hour debates, or the faithful could pray without ceasing for four hours. When people would look at a painting for an afternoon. Paintings! They're like TV, but they don't move."

Today, though, the average U.S. student gives up working on a complicated math problem after only 9.5 minutes. (Because he writes it better than I ever will, I'll keep quoting.) Jacobs says the "culture of distraction changes the way we think." It, literally, reroutes our brain, which makes us anything but the brightest, happiest, conscious people we wish we were.

So, what the hell happened to us? Turns out we basically started screwing ourselves out of the ability to focus sometime around the Industrial Revolution. That's when, as Jacobs says, "we began to fetishize speed and equate quickness with intelligence."

Personally, I can barely sit in silence without my mind suddenly doing the mental equivalent of crunking. Prayer? OMG. Try to find time to sit and quietly reflect? Pashaw. Ride the bus and just focus singularly on the beauty of Lake Michigan? Such effing effort. That's when my brain suddenly decides it MUST comes up with an 8-point plan on how to clean my floorboards. Floorboards, people! Right! This! Very! Second! (This is hysterical because, well, a solid 80 percent of the time you can't even SEE my floorboards, what with the giant mountain of clothes everywhere. But that's beside the point. Or maybe it IS the point.) Hell, I can't even talk on the phone without doing something else: emailing, typing, cleaning, lounging in a bubble bath, walking the dog, cooking dinner, driving my car. I do, however, draw the line at toilet talking. Because, I'm sure you REALLY wanted to know that.

My point... my point... where was I? Oh, right. Yes. Focus. Technology.

In essence, we've (and me, specifically here) somehow acquired this cultural ADD and then proceeded to magnify it with our increasingly wired lifestyle.

I know I do.

Once a few years ago when I was felled by a particularly violent stomach flu, I spent the night crouched on the floor of the bathroom holding on to my Blackberry so I could tweet and text my woe. In between heaving.

Sure, I was never a Focus McFocuserson. Hell, Currer Bell once nearly kicked me out of a Zen meditation group because I couldn't stop fidgeting. But I swear, with each passing day it feels like it's harder and harder to do one thing -- and do it well from start to finish without interruptions

Do you feel that way, too?

All of this is swirling around in my brain today while I was a) at work; b) at lunch; c) riding the L; d) trying on my FABULOUS new prescription sunglasses; e) did I mention they were fabulous; f) basking in the sun on the ride home; g) walking the mutt dog; h) watching 2 episodes of NCIS while eating dinner and sorting fabric scraps and mocking SATC2 for simply existing.

Yet somehow, in the midst of all the noise of my mind, I came across this: 8 reporters at The Washington Post tried to unplug for a week. They nearly lost their minds. Then they wrote about it.

Think about it: no e-mail. No iPhone. No quick Googling. No YouTube to see the latest Greyson Chance video. I don't think I could it. A full-on wired hiatus. A technological Sabbath.

It makes my busy brain hurt to think about.

I wonder if I could even go a day. Could you? I wonder how I could become better at quieting my my monkey mind that bounces all around like a 3-year-old riding the wave of a raging sugar high.

I guess what I'm saying is this. My name is Noodles. I'm wired. And I'm an addict. And I bet you are too.

Image found here.

God. In brief.

N.B.: If faithy type things make you squeamish, come back next time for more tawdriness or sewing thingies!!

The pastor at my church challenged our congregation to get in on a previous blog challenge over at Patheos.

The assignment: Describe who or what is God in ... wait for it ... 100 words or less.

There were tons of responses -- many of them powerful. She specifically cited this entry by educator and community builder Callid Keefe-Perry.

Bird Shadows/Holy spirit. My God is in the next room, cooking unseen feasts and humming; moments of ache before the rain when the whole June cloud is ready to burst through though no drop has yet fallen; dandelion blades that insist adamantly they must reside directly in the middle of your neighbor's blacktopped suburban driveway; sights of the shadow of a bird flitting by the sill near the bed of an aging Grace, who can no longer move but counts herself lucky because at least she can still see. This is my God: expectant and grinning, wild and near.

This is SO up my alley. I mean, I may be verbose. But damn do I appreciate a good, briefly written piece. So I decided to accept her challenge. And now I want to pass it along to you. Your God doesn't have to be one of a particular faith (or any faith for that matter. I believe God is unique to everyone.)

Here's my answer in 99 words. Maybe on a different day at a different time, I'd write something different. But for now, here's mine.

My God is an affirmation, loving me simply because I am. He is raw, strong and powerful. She is subtle, gentle and soft. God has high standards (like Tim Gunn) and says to me: "Make it work." Then "Let me help." God is the face of a red and frightened newborn that bursts, screaming into this world. God is the peaceful, gnarled hands of a grandmother waiting to go home. God is dichotomous and mysterious. Confusing. Simple. Beyond and within. My God is along for the ride, happy to be by my side. God knows the feeling is mutual.

So take some time and think about it. And then take a stab at the assignment in the comments, on your own blog, in your journal, or where ever.

Peace. And good luck.

In which I make a mess. And progress.

N.B. If I owe you a long-awaited wedding present that's really going to be more like a Happy First Anniversary! present, read at your own risk.

Many moons ago I started working on a wedding quilt. Started, being the operative word. The pattern was taking forever. None of my colors seemed to go together. I ripped out every seam and started over. A lot. It was just ... icky. Luckily (or at least, luckily if you enjoy procrastinating) everyone on the planet decided to have babies, which kept me up to my eyeballs in baby quilts for a while.

But birthin' season is almost over so now I MUST return to the wedding quilt, which is inspired by this.

I spent about three hours working tonight and only made three blocks. Sigh. I forgot how much is involved in this, especially since I can't use my favorite fast-sewing technique of strip-piecing.

After what felt like an hour of cutting, I had this. One glorious mess. (This is just a part of it.)


I had a hard time taking pictures of the finished blocks. Plus, it's getting late, I'm tired and I don't feel like playing with photoshop to fix the crappy lighting. So pretend this looks STUNNING. Is actually a picture of the whole block. Has cool colors that aren't funky in the light. Is straight. And then multiply it. By a lot. And then your mind can enjoy its imaginary-for-now-but-soon-to-be-actualized awesomeness.


The end.

I solemly swear ...

... That I am up to NO GOOD.

Something new.

So what if snowed last week? Or if there is frost forecast for the weekend? Pshaw! Today, there was sun. Lots of it. And somehow, in the past 24 hours, things finally started blooming.


Say what you will about Chicago's horrific winters. (And God knows, I've used a few choice four-letter words to describe them.) But there's nothing like surviving that dark and frigid drudgery to make you appreciate the beginning of spring.

(Shot Thursday afternoon in Lakeview.)

Nothing but rim.

Spotted on my walk home from the L.


That's a lot of stolen bike. But one mighty U-lock.

It wasn't me.

Neighbors in my condo building are cranky. And cranky people leave passive aggressive notes. Specifically, cranky people leave notes on the bulletin board at the entry of the building. This is today's.



So far there have been nasty notes to a unit owner who's dog was spotted in the back yard (egads!). Complaints about stolen cupcakes. (Seriously, who leaves a package of cupcakes in a public lobby of a 91-unit building for 2+ days and expects to find them?) And other assorted gripes about bad neighboritis.

Now, I don't meant to belittle the thefts. Afterall, I lost my beloved mountain bike two years ago to a thief who got into a back stairwell and rode it away. But the anonymous notes? Really?

Ah, life a condo.

Photoshop and inspiration.

I don't know how to use it. But damn if that doesn't keep me from trying. From my collection of Easter pictures. Anyone with mad PhotoShop Elements skills, I'll swap lessons for quilt instructions!

A bedroom problem.

No no, you dirty birds!! I have an, ahem, different bedroom problem. Specifically? This.


Not sure what you're looking at? It's one of the several big-ass scuff marks my stupid headboard has put on my wall. And NO, pervy! Not from that. Please. Anyhoodles....

I've hated my headboard since I got it, but it was cheap and that was -- and is -- good enough for me and my tight budget. Still, I was getting fed up with the scratches. And finally on Friday, while frantically preparing for my parents' arrival, I decided to bite the bullet and make a headboard cover.


To make the slip cover I used five-inch nine-patches I started piecing together about a year ago, hoping to finally make myself a quilt for JUST ME. Since my project kept getting put aside by baby quilts and wedding projects and giving sewing lessons to friends and all manner of assorted other things, I finally accepted the idea that my bedspread quilt just wasn't meant to be. And with that, I dug into my pile of nine-patches.

With that I mind, I measured the headboard (a queen-size is 60 inches), grabbed five of my favorite blocks, arranged them in a way I liked and sewed them together using the standard quarter-inch seam. They formed a strip that was about 68 inches long at that point, so I trimmed 3 inches off each side to fit my length while still allowing room for a seam allowance Then I added white sashing at the top (3.5 inches wide x the length of the piece) and bottom (5 inches wide x the length of the piece). I hemmed the bottom sashing piece to keep raw edges away and did the same thing on white backing that ran the length and width of my patchwork top.

And, voila! Super pretty AND functional headboard that looks awesome and keeps the piece o' crap from further marring my walls.



The whole project was super easy and took me about 40 minutes to do. Alas: I was in such a rush that I didn't think to take pictures for a proper tutorial. So these will have to suffice.

But, tell me. Whatcha think??

Scenes from a Sunday morning.

Easter dawned dark with an angry sky and an angrier wind. Some of the 30 of us gathered along the shores of Lake Michigan were wrapped in blankets by the time the service began at 7 a.m. Some wore gloves and scarves. Others didn't even bring coats.


But as we stood huddled together in a circle, singing songs of praise about the miracle of Easter, the sky began to soften. The sun fought through the clouds.


And it wasn't really that cold any more.



Light overcoming dark. Warm replacing winter. Rebirth defeating death. It was a fitting metaphor for an Easter morning.

The seagulls were squawking. (Was our singing THAT bad?)


The sun won. And by the time the service was done and we were headed to church for breakfast to finish the rest of a long day of services, it was radiant outside. And our prayer flags flapped in the breeze inviting people in.


Inside, light streamed through the windows.


The flowers smelled like spring.


And we were so, so happy.

He's a walking man.

Meet new friend Matt. He's all kinds of lovely. And smart. And awesome -- after all, he loves to play with the Macy Mutt.

Oh yeah, and he's spending the next nine months walking across the country. You read that right. Nine months. One very, very long cross-country trek.

He left Rockaway Beach, N.Y. on Saturday and expects to wind up at Rockaway Beach, Ore. when 2011 rolls around.

Now, you might think Matt's a wee bit nuts to try this. (Ok, you might be a wee bit right. But let's not get all judgey on the boy. Glass houses and all, right?) But sane or not, you've got to admit: this is kind of neat. And brave. And scary. And exciting. And crazy. And ... And...

So why the hell is he doing this? He admits to a need for adventure and some reinvention of his life. But there's more to it than that. I'll let him explain, from his FAQ:

There’s also no obstacle to stopping and exploring things when you’re walking. When I’m driving, I find myself saying “Oh, I should have stopped there” as I go flying by something that looks interesting. The idea of having to impede your progress, turn the car around, and find a place to park is such a mental barrier to exploring when you’re driving. Even on a bike there’s a hesitancy to stop and climb off the saddle to go check something out. But it’s easy when you’re walking. You don’t have to stop what you’re doing; you just walk in a different direction for a little and have a look around.

But perhaps the thing I find most important about walking is how connected it makes me feel to the space I’m passing through. I think it’s because walking is the way we experience our homes. We walk to the fridge, we walk to bed, we walk around the yard. We walk to the copy machine, we walk to the coffee machine, we walk around the grocery store. So this is that same familiar stride, that most basic form of locomotion we know so well, but through vast, immense, unknown places. It’s a way to live a continuous line across the country as if it were my home.

I’m very drawn to the simplicity of this whole pursuit. Each day I’ll wake up, pack all my possessions back in my cart, and walk a little farther. That’s it. That’s the extent of my world. I’m just walkin’. I think everyone dreams about such a simple existence from time to time, when the worries and pressures of modern life start to accumulate. This is my chance to live that dream for a while, and see how the reality compares to the fantasy.

He outlines the logistics on his blog: what's in his cart (A LOT), where he'll sleep (he's got camping gear but he's also hoping to rely on the kindness of strangers), how long he'll walk each day (far enough to make my fat ass go "ugh.") etc. But the coolest thing on his Web site is turning out to be the pictures of what he sees and the people he's encountered. While I'm sure this journey won't be all puppies and bunnies and roses and compassion of strangers -- in fact, I know there will be a lot of hardship and some dangerous situations -- he's off to a good start so far.

In Boonton, N.J., the pastor at a local Presbyterian (yay!) church, let him come in out of the rain and made him tea and soup. She even brought him the Haggadah, since it's Passover! (10-to-1 he becomes part of a Holy Week sermon. Just saying. I know my preachers.) The next day, the owner of a hardware store refused to let him pay for the supplies he was buying.

I know these stories abound in the communities along the Appalachian Trail, where it takes folks about six months to thru-hike from Georgia to Maine. But this is far from that area and Matt is far from a sight folks are used to seeing. It's been so refreshing to see the kindness of strangers as they interact with him. I know he's just starting, but I can't wait to see what happens.

So, if you live along his route and happen to see a scruffy looking dude pushing a modified jogging stroller with a sign that says "We may never meet again" do me a favor: Buy him some coffee, let him shower and rest his feet. And let him repay you with the awesome stories of his journey. You'll be glad you did.

In which music gets stuck in my head

Today was The Day Of The Brainworm. Some people, like, say, you, might try to get rid of the brainworm by listening to another song. I try to drown the brainworm. By listening to the tune over. And over. And over again.

This is to explain why I listened to this song no less than three dozen times while sitting in the office today doing work.



Laugh all you want, but COM'N! Who didn't L-O-V-E Sister Act? And OMG, nuns! Rocking out in Latin. Fact: I had "mater ad mater inter marata" in my head all morning while dancing in my chair. Oh ... my high school Latin teach would have been so proud.

Of course, Hail, Holy Queen was only one of the morning songs. Since Spring has, however fleetingly, decided to make an appearance in Chicago, I decided to skip one of my morning buses and walk across the Loop. It was before 7 a.m. and the sun was rising and birds were chirping and it was just effing stunning. And then, somehow, this popped into my head. And stayed there.



For the record, there were so many good versions of this on YouTube. I liked this because, I'm presuming that since it's an Italian choir, they don't speak English. I love the idea of American gospel music (something of which I admit I know nothing about) going overseas. Plus, I dig the soloist.

And finally, since apparently I have churchy music on the brain, my afternoon musical moment came after Holy Week services, where the final hymn was "What Wondrous Love Is This." No offense to the organ player and all, but it's my experience that bluegrass makes almost all spirituals better. Judge for yourself.

A seasonally appropriate lion.

I don't know about you, but I love bizarre neighborhood quirks. And no, not the kind of quirks that come from bitchy neighbors and ridiculous zoning regulations. I'm talking about little things that are the heart and soul of your community. In mine, it's a weird little concrete lion who has the most diverse wardrobe you've ever seen.

I don't know the history of The Montrose Lion, a yard ornament in a too-tiny-for-people fenced in area of a nearby condo building. And damn, does he have a wardrobe. In my years here, I've seen him in a Santa suit at Christmas time, New Year's glasses, a variety of Halloween get ups (my favorite is his Zorro costume), a kid's Cubs jacket, a Bears helmet, a summer dress and Valentine's attire. I could go on. The best part about the lion's wardrobe is that it's all ratty and beaten up -- what with it having to exist outside in Chicago's famously horrendous weather.

But that doesn't stop whoever dresses him from making sure he still looks his best.

I bet at this point, words have stopped doing justice for this little neighborhood treasure. Click here to see him with his 4th of July accessories. Or for a more up-to-the-moment look, behold this picture I snapped tonight, showing the lion in his Easter best. (Sidebar: Let's hear it for the cell phone camera, huh?)


Doesn't he look SMASHING?